It Is Imperative That You Meet
by sociopathichobbitsinabluebox
Summary: On Christmas Eve, John Watson sees a pale, dark haired boy on the other side of the street. Many years later he sees the same boy while riding home in a cab. Later John gets a visit from a man called the Doctor saying that he and this man must meet, or else... (My first story. Please read and review)
1. Chapter 1 - The Boy and The Doctor

It is Imperative That You Meet

On the cold evening of December 24th, 1980, John Watson was walking down a bust street in London, admiring all of the decorations in the shop windows and the people going around door to door singing Christmas carols. Being only eight years old, John was amazed by all of the Christmas cheer that was being spread and how everything just seemed so perfect. The roads and sidewalks covered in a thin layer of show, wreaths hung on the doors of flats, cars driving past with red noses or antlers taped to them. Nothing seemed out of place.

Well, almost nothing.

Glancing across the street John could see another boy, perhaps a few years older than himself, walking along the sidewalk, gazing at everything in sight, just like John had been a few moments ago. But there was something different about the way the boy took in his surroundings. His eyes weren't filled with wonder like John's had been. His were almost emotionless, cold grey emotionless eyes, scanning everything in sight.

The boy had dark hair, black probably. He was pale, skin almost matching the snow that had begun to fall. He had wrapped himself up in a long dark coat with a blue scarf tied around his neck. He had a look of seriousness, and wasn't even smiling when someone would walk by and say "Merry Christmas". He would just reply with a curt nod and keep on walking and staring.

John didn't know what to think of the boy and didn't realise he was staring at him until the boy made eye contact with him from across the street and gave him a sort of disgusted look. John quickly looked away and blushed, embaressed that he had been caught. When John looked across the street again, the boy was gone.

Many years later, John was taking a cab back from school when out of the corner of his eye he saw a tall figure standing outside of a cafe, smoking a cigarette. Even then, almost ten years since he had first seen him, John new that that was the boy that he saw across the road on Christmas Eve. The boy, or man now, still wore a dark trench coat and the blue scarf. He still stared with a cold intensity that sent shivers down his spine. Now that John could see him better, he noticed the the man was quite handsome. John was straight, but he had to admit that the mysterious man was good looking. His dark, curly hair was almost covered his grey eyes, or were they blue? And his cheekbones, oh the cheekbones. John could cut himself slapping that face. Not that he wanted to try.

Before he could do anything, the cab quickly turned the corner and continued on. After a few minutes it pulled up in front of John's flat.

John paid the cabbie and slowly walked up to his flat, still thinking about what he should do about the man. Part of him said that it was no big deal and that it was just by chance that he saw him again. Another said that it was fate and they were supposed to meet.

John's thoughts were interuppted when he heard the doorbell ring. Walking, rather slowly, down the stairs, he opened the door to find a man wearing a tweed jacket and a ridiculous red bow tie standing there. Behind him, he could see a blue police telephone box standing in and alley.

_What on Earth is that doing there? _John thought. _Those haven't been around since 1963._

Looking back at the man on his doorstep, John finally spoke.

"Can I help you?"

"No actually," the man replied. "I'm here to help you, John."

"Oh really? How so?" John spoke with a small level of sarcasm in his voice, trying to hide the fact that he was atally quite curious to see what the man in the bow tie had to say.

"I can't say much," the man began to speak in a whisper, to make sure no one else could hear, even though there was no one around. "But I can tell you that I know that you have noticed the man with the dark hair and pale skin."

Before John could say anything, the man continued.

"Don't ask me how I know, I just do. His name is Sherlock Holmes and it is imperative that you meet." The strange man finished.

John looked at him, puzzled. "Why?" He questioned.

"I can't say."

"Well, alright then. Do you know where he is?" John asked, grabbing for his coat, thinking that he had been right and they were supposed to meet.

"No, no! Don't go to him. He will eventually come to meet you. Not here, not now, but eventually."

The man turned to leave, but John reached out and grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him back.

"Who are you?" John asked firmly. "Who are you? How do you know this? How do you know who I am?"

"My name's The Doctor," the man replied with a smirk. "It's my job to know everything. I keep the world balanced and stop a lot of bad thing from happening to you humans. Like I said before, I can't tell you why you must meet each other, but I'm telling you that you have to. It's important. That meeting with be one that with change both of your lives."

"Wait what do you mean 'you humans'? Are you not human?" That seemed to be the only thing John got out of that explination.

The Doctor just smiled, turned on his heel and bgan to walk towards the police box. He stepped inside leaving John standing on this doorstep, staring raight ahead, worried and a bit puzzled. As he turned to go in, John heard a _whoosh, whoosh _sound and turned to see that the police box was slowly disappearing, right before his eyes.

Before it vanished completely, The Doctor opened the door and shouted:

"Remember, it is imperative that you two meet!"

And with that, the blue phone booth was gone, along with The Doctor.


	2. Chapter 2 - A Meeting At St Bart's

It is Imperative That You Meet

Several years after his encounter with the Doctor, John Watson joined the army and was deployed to Afghanistan, forgetting all about what the Doctor had told him about Sherlock Holmes.

After sustaining several injuries, including a shot to the shoulder, he was sent back home and given an army pension.

Things were going horribly for John. His paernts had disowened him, his sister was an alcoholic, he had no job and his life was now going nowhere. His therapist had told him to start a blog and record everything that happens to him.

But nothing ever happens to John Watson.

It was on a fairly warm spring day that John decided to kill himself. He had woken up from yet another nightmare of the war and realised that things weren't going to get any better for him.

John was heading towards an old abandoned building, walking along a quiet path in a city park, where he would take a small white pill and eventually, after a few minutes, his heart would stop.

Just before he turned a corner he heard his name being called out from behind him.

"John!? John Watson!"

John turned around, slightly annoyed, and glanced at the person calling his name.

"Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart's together." Mike extended his hand and John took it, grudgingly.

"Yes, sorry. Yes, Mike. Hello, hi."

"Yeah, I know. I got fat."

"No, no." John said trying to save himself from the akward conversation.

"I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?'

John deadpanned. "I got shot."

A few minutes later, John and Mike were sitting on a park bench drinking takeaway coffee. Trying to fill the akward silence, John attempted to make conversation.

"So you're still at Bart's?"

"Yeah, teaching now. Bright young things like we used to be. God I hate them."

They shared a small chuckle and then Mike turned the topic of conversation to John.

"What about you then? Staying in town to get yourself sorted?"

John stretched his legs and replied with a lame excuse. "Can't afford London on an army pension."

"Ahh, and you couldn't bear to be anywhere else. That's not the John Watson I know."

"Yeah, but I'm John Watson."

John looked down to his left hand, his _shaking _left hand. He flexed it and tried to keep it steady. His therapist said it was Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but he didn't agree with her. His thoughts were disrupted when Mike asked him if Harry could help.

"Yeah like that's gonna happen." John chuckled to himself, knowing that his alcoholic sister would never help him with money problems.

Mike shrugged, "I don't know, get a flatshare or something."

"Come on," John smiled at Mike. "Who'd want me for a flatmate?"

Mike laughed and John turned to look with a confused expression on his face. "What?" He asked, sounding almost offended.

"Well, you're the second person to say that to me today."

John looked around scepticly. "Who was the first?"

Mike offered to take John to meet a man who was at St Bart's hospital, working in the lab, and was also looking for a flatmate. John agreed, thinking that it was worth a shot and all plans of commiting suicide vanished as John and Mike got into a cab and headed to Bart's.

Mike and John walked into the lab where a tall, dark haired man was sitting, examining some form of liquid on a small glass plate. John looked him over, and a wave of familiarity hit him. He looked so familiar. He could see the man glance at them just for a moment, clearly not thinking that John looked familiar at all, before returning to his work as if they had never entered.

"Well, a bit different from my day." John remarked, gazing around the room.

"Ha, you have no idea." Mike replied, cheerily.

"Mike can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine." The man spoke up suddenly. John thought it rude that that was the first thing he said to them rather than a proper 'Hello', but then he realised that he made no more of an effort to introduce himself then the man did.

"What's wrong with the landline?" Mike asked while walking towards the large table to have a seat.

"I prefer to text."

John looked at the man, not sure what to make of his pickiness, or whatever you would call that type of attitude.

"Sorry, it's in my coat." Mike replied sitting down.

"Here," John said reaching into his coat pocket to grab his cell phone. "Use mine."

"Oh, thank you."

"This is an old friend of mine, John Watson." Mike introduced John to the man.

Without saying anything, the man walked over, took the phone from John and after looking at it for a quick second asked, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

Mike smiled while John looked at the man, unsure of what he had just been asked.

"Sorry?'

The man turned his head to look at John. "Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you-"

"Ah, Molly. Coffee, thank you." John was cut off by the entrance of a woman bringing in coffee for the strange man.

_Why can't he get his own coffee? And how does he know about my military history? Maybe Mike told him about me before we got here._

The man handed the phone back to John and reached for the small cup of coffee that Molly had brought in.

"What happened to the lipstick?" the man asked, noticing that Molly had wiped it off from earlier before.

"It wasnt working for me." Molly said quietly, while handing the cup over to him.

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Mouth's too small now." He turned and walked back to his spot at the table, taking a sip of the coffee, and waving is hand as if to shoo Molly away.

"Okay." Molly said, and left it at that. She turned and walked out not bothering to say anything to neither Mike nor John.

_Well that was rude. Who does this guy think he is?_

"How do you feel about the violin?" The ma asked.

Thinking that he was talking to Mike, John didn't really hear the full question. But soon after he noticed that Mike was busy staring at a test tube of something and that the question was actually directed at him.

"Sorry, what?"

"I play the violin when I'm thinking," he said, not taking his eyes off of his work. "Sometimes I don't talk for days on and - would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."

Baffled, John looked to Mike for anwares. "So you told him about me?"

"Not a word." Mike replied, still with the test tube in hand.

"Then who said anything about flatmates?" John shifted on his feet, getting a bit uncomfortable.

"I did," the man replied, now turning to put on his coat. "I told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is, just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't a difficult leap." He finished, tying a blue scarf around his neck.

"How did you know about Afghanistan?"

"I got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it," he said, either completely oblivious to John's question, or just choosing to ignore it. Grabbing his phone and putting it in his pocket, he made his way towards the door.

"Well meet there tomorrow evening at 7:00. Sorry, I've gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the morgery."

John turned, just a bit aggitated, to the door. "Is that it?" He asked.

The man turned back and slowly walked up to John. "Is that _what_?"

"We've only just met and we're going to go look at a flat."

He looked at Mike and then back at John. "Problem?"

John smiled and also looked at Mike. Mike smiled back, knowing what was coming.

"We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name."

The odd man looked down at John with a sudden seriousness and began talking in at melotone voice.

"I know you're an army docter and you've been delivered home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's and alcoholic, more likley because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp is psycosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on, don't you think?"

He then turned and walked back to the door. When he was halfway out of the room he leaned back, looked at John and said:

"The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." He winked, cherrily at John and left both him and Mike with an "Afternoon!"

Mike waved goodbye and then looked at John who was standing there dumbfounded.

"Yeah, he's always like that."

But John wasn't worried about that. He was wondering about why the name 'Sherlock Holmes' sounded so familiar. He brushed it off and decided that he would meet Sherlock the next day, wanting to know what he was about.


	3. Chapter 3 - To Baker Street

It Is Imperative That You Meet

**Hey. This chapter is going to be a little shorter than the other one because I'm still thinking ideas as to where this story is going to go. Any suggestions are most welcome. If I get anything wrong feel free to correct me. Thanks!**

oOo

John left Bart's quite quickly after Sherlock left. Saying goodbye to Mike, he walked out and followed the same route Sherlock had taken out of the building, to the main road to catch a cab. When he arrived at his flat, he went over and sat on his bed, taking in the unusual events of the day. Grabbing his phone he checked the message that Sherlock had sent.

_**Messages - Sent**_

_**If brother has green ladder, arrest brother. -SH**_

_What in the world? _John thought. _Who is this guy? Does he work with the police?_

He had to find out.

Getting up and limping over to his desk, John opened his laptop and typed 'Sherlock Holmes' into the search bar. Up popped up a website called 'The Science of Deduction'. After reading through it thoroughly, John came to the conclusion that Mr Holmes was completely full of himself and for a moment, reconsidered going to the meeting that they, or rather, Sherlock had planned. And yet, the following evening, John found himself limping along Baker Street and finally arriving at 221B.

Checking his watch, he saw that it was exactly 7:00. Where was Sherlock? He walked up to the doorstep and knocked on the door. Meanwhile, Sherlock had pulled up in a cab and was in the process of paying the cabbie, when John turned around and noticed him.

"Hello," Sherlock spoke, still handing money to the cabbie.

"Ah, Mr Holmes," John said extending his hand.

Sherlock smiled, "Sherlock, please," he said, taking John's hand and shaking warmly.

"This is a prime stop. Must be expensive."

" I know the Mrs Hudson, the landlady. She's giving me a special deal, owes me a favour. A few years back her husband was sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out."

John looked at him in awe. "You stopped her husband being executed?"

Sherlock smiled slyly. "Oh, no. I ensured it."

Before John could ask any more questions the door was opened by and elderly lady, presumably Mrs Husdon.

"Sherlock," Mrs Hudson spoke with a kind, motherly voice. One that John was happy to hear. A part of him was glad that his potential landlady was a kind elderly woman as opposed to a grumpy middle-aged bloke that people say all landlords are.

"Mrs Hudson, Dr John Watson," Sherlock introduced them to each other. Mrs Hudson replied with a sweet 'Hello' and beckoned them both inside.

**Hope this was a good one! Thanks for reading! Don't forget to review, thanks! :)**


	4. Chapter 4 - Ummm, No

It Is Imperative That You Meet

John followed Mrs Hudson upstairs into the flat, followed in closely by Sherlock. Walking in he could see a large desk suitable for working, to the right, a couch with a coffee table, to the left, two armchairs, one leather and one something (find out later). Behind him was a decent sized kitchen overflowing with test tubes and jars full of specimens and liquids the John didn't even what to know the origin of. There was a microscope and a Bunsen burner, still on. But the clutter was just found in the kitchen. The whole place was riddled with papers and books, clothes strewn around on the floor. There were bags on most of the chairs, full of who knows what. Still, the flat was nice, roomy and in a very nice location. The only real problem was the personality of his potential flatmate.

"Well this could be very nice. Very nice indeed." John stated after looking at all of the aspects of the flat.

"Yes. Yes, my thoughts 's why I went straight ahead and moved in."

Not realising that Sherlock hadn't completed his sentence reply, John spoke at the same time, and made the conversation rather awkward.

"Just as soon as we get this rubbish cleaned up," said John. "Oh. So this is all-"

"Well, obviously I can straighten things up a bit," Sherlock cut John off as he scurried around picking up papers and stacking them on the coffee table.

Looking up to the mantelpiece, John could see a skull, which looked very life-like to him. Sherlock then walked over and placed some envelopes, no doubtingly some bills, on the mantelpiece and secured them in place by stabbing a pocket knife into them. John worried about just what he would get himself into if he decided to stay in the flat with Sherlock Holmes.

"That's a skull," John said distracting Sherlock from his tidying spree.

"Friend of mine. Well, I say friend."

_So the man keeps a human skull in his flat for all to see and stabs his bills with a pocket knife. If he's anything like he comes across as on his website, then he's an arrogant, self-centered psycopath who acts like he's a species with an immensely greater intellect. Untidy, aloof, and not for me thanks._

"What do you think then Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms," Mrs Hudson said, almost sounding like she was encouraging the thought of becoming this mad man's flatmate.

"Actually Mrs Hudson, I don't think I'll be staying."

Sherlock, who had resumed cleaning, stood up abruptly and looked over at John from across the room. "What? Why not?"

He spoke with a small voice that made John feel sorry for declining the offer. But then again, if he had asked someone to be his flatmate and they said 'no', he would be pretty crestfallen too.

"I'm sorry, its just not what I'm looking for."

Not wanting to explain himself further, John turned and walked to the door. Before he could exit, Sherlock spoke up in a voice that as almost a whisper. "Is it me?"

John turned back again, and replyed with the only thing that could come to mind "Mr Holmes, I'm sorry, but your not the type of person I would like to have as a flatmate."

John left the flat before Sherlock could have a shot at defending himself. He last thing he heard was Mrs Hudson walk over to Sherlock and comfort him.

"Don't worry dear, there will always be other people to share with."

But I actually liked him."


	5. Chapter 5 - Into The TARDIS

It Is Imperative That You Meet

Unintentionally slamming the door on his way out, John left 221B, hopefully for the last time. He limped as fast as his leg would allow him, towards the road to hail a cab. He caught the first one that passed by, and jumped in. The more John thought about what he said to Sherlock, the more guilty he felt. But he wasn't going to turn back now. It would be so odd for him to waltz back into the flat and be all like 'Ah Mr Holmes, I would actually love to be your flatmate. Let me just grab a few things from my flat and I'll settle right in.' Not to mention the fact that Sherlock probably wouldn't want to have him back anyway.

He arrived at his flat a few minutes later and slowly walked up the stairs, looking forward to a nice sleep. He almost knocked himself out when he ran into a large, wooden object.

"Ow! What the hell!?" he exclaimed, touching his forehead to see if there was any blood.

He looked up to see a large blue box standing in his living room. A large blue telephone box, like the one that showed up in an alley in front of his flat all those years ago.

_How did it get in here? _

Then he remembered how the phone box disappeared from plain sight with it's single inhabitant, what was his name? The something. The Doctor!

All of the memories of the Doctor and his warning about Sherlock Holmes came back. That was the reason Sherlock looked so familiar when John first saw him st st Bart's. Scanning the box up and down John saw that he was staring at the front of it and before he could reach for the handle to open it, it was opened by none other than The Doctor himself.

"Oi! Watch it will you! You're gonna put a dent in her," the cross Doctor said, still dressed in his tweed jacket and bow tie.

John's blood started to boil "Well its not my fault you stuck it right in the middle of my living room!"

The Doctor looked around at the room behind John. "Oh, sorry. Slight miscalculation."

"Yeah, thanks for that. Now, if you wouldn't mind taking your box and leaving because I would like to get some shut eye." John shimmied around the box and made his way over to his bedroom.

"What? Why here? And its not called 'a box', its called the T.A.R.D.I.S." The Doctor stepped out and walked around the room, picking up objects, studying them for a second, then putting them back down, as if it was an inspection.

"Its called a what? And, why wouldn't I sleep here? I live here," John called called back from his bedroom, in the middle of getting changed. He stood in the doorway and looked at the Doctor. "Do you ever change?"

"No need to."

John walked back out of his room, now dressed in light blue pajama bottoms and a grey t-shirt, and stood next to the T.A.R.D.I.S.

"So this thing. The T.A.R.D.I.S. Is it a time machine?"

"And a space ship." The Doctor replied grinning.

"Can I go inside?"

"Another time, maybe. But right now I have a more serious matter to discuss with you. Why aren't you at Baker Street? Have you forgotten everything that I told you that night on your doorstep?" The Doctor sat down on the couch and shifted around, until he was comfortable.

John leaned against the side of the T.A.R.D.I.S, seeing as the couch was taken. "I had forgotten, until I ran into your phone box here, and the memories came back. You said I was to meet Sherlock Holmes one day and that it was going to be a meeting that will change both of our lives."

"Yes, well, did you meet?"

"Mhmm," John nodded. "Yesterday at Bart's hospital. I was talking to an old friend of mine and he told me he knew someone who was looking for a flatshare. We went to St Bart's to meet him and there he was. We met like you said we would. It was hardly life changing."

"So you would have been flatmates, then? Did you go to the flat?"

"Yes, at exactly 7:00. It was very nice but I declined. Why?"

The Doctor leaned forward. "Why would you decline? That's not how this is supposed to happen."

"I didn't like his personality. He's an arrogant sod."

"How do you know that? You've only met him just yesterday! Talk about judging a book by it's cover."

John walked over to the table to grab his laptop and handed it to The Doctor. "Here. Read it." Sherlock's website was still open from the night before. John had stayed up all night reading it.

After taking quite a long time reading through it, The Doctor looked up and stared ahead for a few minutes before John began to talk.

"What did you mean 'That's not how his is supposed to happen'?"

The Doctor looked up at John from his spot on the couch. "Have you heard of the serial murders that have been in the news?"

"Yeah, who hasn't? Scotland Yard is baffled"

"Well, Sherlock Holmes aids the police with some of their cases. This is one of them and you should be running around London with him trying to catch the killer."

"I _should _be? How do you know that?"

"I told you," the Doctor smiled. "Its my job to know."

John rolled his eyes. "Well, what does it matter that I'm not with him?"

The Doctor stared at John for a moment before standing up and striding to the door of the T.A.R.D.I.S and opening the door. "You know what?" he said "Maybe you can go inside today."

He stepped in and closed the door behind him, leaving John standing in his living room deciding on entering the telephone box or staying the hell out of it. The next thing John knew was that he was standing in a box that was much, much MUCH bigger on the inside.

"Oh my God," John said, his eyes widening as he looked around the inside of the T.A.R.D.I.S.

The interior glowed and almost orangey colour and hummed with and unspeakable amount of energy. In the middle was a round console full of gadgets and switches and gizmos. Out of it came a large cylinder with a device inside moving up and down. There were staircases leading up to different openings and John wondered just how large the inside of the T.A.R.D.I.S really was. His focus was drawn to the Doctor, who was dancing around the console, flipping switches and pulling levers.

"Well, what do you think?" He shouted over the noise the the cylinder in the middle had begun to make. It was making the same noise that it made on the day the Doctor first came to him.

"Its bigger on the inside!"

"Ha! That's what they all say."

All of a sudden, the noises stopped and the Doctor turned to John. "Go look outside," he said.

John turned back around, wonder what could possibly be out there waiting for him. He rushed to the doors and opened them to find...

**After I published the chapter before this one, I realised that John is a bit more rude than he is in the show. So I'll try to correct that in future chapters. **


	6. Chapter 6 - Two Pills, One Death

It Is Imperative That You Meet

((_John turned back around, wondering what could possibly be out there waiting for him. He rushed to the doors and opened them to find..._))

"Umm, where are we?" John called over his shoulder, back into the T.A.R.D.I.S. "This isn't really impressive, you know, for a time machine." He was looking at two identical buildings standing beside eachother, clearly empty. The lights were out and there were no cars in the parking lot beside either of the buildings.

"Trust me, it can do a lot more than this, but this is where we need to be right now." The Doctor sauntered over and hopped out of the T.A.R.D.I.S.

"That doesn't answer my question."

"We are at Roland-Kurr Further Education College. A few hours in the future."

"We're in the future?!"

"Yes, but only by a few hours. Now come inside, I need to show you something. Nobody will be in here, just cleaners" The Doctor said walking past John, towards the building on the left hand side. When he got to the door, he turned and saw that John was still standing on the side of the street, looking dumbfounded.

The Doctor walked back over to John and pulled him along, into the building. "John, snap out of it."

"Sorry," John mumbled.

They walked up a few staircases and finally came to a stop in front of a large window overlooking the street that they had just came from. John could see the T.A.R.D.I.S, but nothing else.

"What are we looking at?"

"Just wait," the Doctor said, pulling out something that John first thought was a flashlight, but turned out to be something that he could only describe as a long metal thing with a green light at the end. The Doctor pointed it at the T.A.R.D.I.S. The 'thing' made a strange noise and the telephone box disappeared.

"Where did it go?" John whispered.

"Its still there, but now its invisible."

"Oh, okay. What's that thing in your hand?"

"Sonic screwdriver."

John sighed. "Right. Got it."

"Look!"

John looked back out the window to see a cab pull up to the curb and the driver step out. He walked around to the side and leaned in to the open window, saying a few words to his passenger. Then, the cabbie pulled out a gun and pointed it at the passenger's head. To John's suprise, after a few more words, the cabbie lowered the gun and walked to the entrance doors to the building on the right. After a few moments the car door opened and out walked Sherlock Holmes.

"What is going on? What's he doing here?" John turned back to the Doctor, scowling.

"Remember when we were talking about the serial suicides earlier? Well, Sherlock found out that they were actually murders, and the killer was a cabbie called Jeff Hope. Each of his victims had some reason get a cab, so he would find them, pick 'em up and drive them to a place that was deserted and they had to reason to be at. Then he would hold them at gunpoint and make them choose a pill from one of two bottles. On pill was harmless and the other, fatal. The catch is, whatever pill the victem doesn't take, Jeff does."

"And each one picked the wrong pill? That cabbie is pretty lucky."

"Yes, now come on." The Doctor said while grabbing John's arm again and pulling him down the hall, up some more staircases, through a maze of corridors, until they got to one of the study halls.

They walked in and The Doctor stopped and folded his arms. "Go to the end of the room." He said, nodding towards the window on the opposite side of the room.

John walked, slowly, over to to window, casting quick glances over his shoulder at The Doctor, who would just stand there with his arms crossed and raise his eyebrows.

Looking out the window, into the other building, John could see Jeff and Sherlock sitting in a room identical to the one he was in, except that one was illuminated by the bright flouresent overhead lights.

Sherlock sat still, leaning on the back of the chair, not moving a single muscle or showing any emotion while the cabbie spoke to him. Then, Jeff pulled out two small bottles from his pockets and set them on the table in front of Sherlock. He looked at them both, studying them, From where John was standing, he could see the cabbie lean in, looking smug, as if he was taunting Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at the pills once more, before finally replying to the cabbie.

John turned and looked over at the Doctor, "Why am I watching this? Nothing is happeneing. They're just talking."

"Look."

When John looked again, Jeff had pulled out his gun again and aimed it directly at Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock didn't move an inch.

_Oh my God! Sherlock move! _John thought. _Wait why aren't I saying this out loud? _

"SHERLOCK!"

But Sherlock didn't hear him.

Before John could do anything more, the cabbie pulled the trigger. John shut his eyes, waiting for the sound of gunshot, but it never came. He opened his eyes to see a small flame flickering at the end of the gun.

_Jesus Christ. A cigarette lighter? Sherlock must have known. But if he was wrong, he would have gotten himself killed. That self-assured bastard._

Jeff put the gun away and Sherlock proceeded to push out his chair, get up and make his way to the door. John breathed a sign of relif. Then, he huffed one of frustration as he saw Sherlock turn around and walk back over to the table, snatching the pill closest to the end of the table.

"What. Is. He. Doing?"

Jeff got up as well and took the other pill in his hand. They both opened the bottles and slowly raised them to their mouths Sherlock took a moment and held the pill up to the light. Knowing he was going to take it, John took off. Pushing passed The Doctor, he ran out of the room. He sprinted down stairs and hallways, out of the school and across the street, back to where the T.A.R.D.I.S stood. Since it was still invisible, he had to feel around for it. He stopped when he ran into the side of the T.A.R.D.I.S for the second time that day. Lungs burning, John threw open the doors and ran inside.

He ran around, looking for the one object that he could use to save Sherlock's life.

"Come on, Doctor. You have got to have one!"

Opening a trunk he found, John could see the handle of what he was looking for.

"Gotcha."

He truned on his heels and ran full speed out of the T.A.R.D.I.S.

**Sorry this one took a little longer to publish. Hope you like it:) Don't forget to review and tell me what you think. Thanks!**


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